Hello, reader. I know...it's been radio silence over here for a time. This year has been pretty nuts. As you may have sussed out from LA on 20's Instagram account, I spent a month living in the Marais in Paris, where my husband's company relocated for March and April. About a month after returning, we went on a trip with friends to Tokyo and Kyoto, followed by a week in Vietnam, starting in Hanoi and traveling south to Ho Chi Min, stopping in Hue. That was June. Last Thursday, I got back from a whirlwind week in India. Bangalore, then Mumbai, then Jaipur, Agra, and finally Delhi. What we saw, experienced, and ate around the world this year was truly incredible. I never imagined I would be visiting so many countries in the span of 6 months! But this year just happened that way. It wasn't exactly planned, but I definitely wouldn't change how it turned out.

Before I start blogging about the incredible flavors of French, Japanese, Vietnamese and Indian cuisines, and where you can find them on a budget in Los Angeles--which you certainly can--I want to send out into the world this letter that I wrote earlier in the year to the man who in many ways set me on this course, in the hopes that it might find him, and that others might connect with him, too. Anthony Bourdain is a pretty special food pioneer. I think the rest of my feelings on the matter can be summed up below.

This summer I am traveling to Vietnam, because you have written that it is your favorite place on Earth. In the years since I first picked up Kitchen Confidential I have had the privilege of seeing much of the world through your eyes. A devotee of your essays and memoirs and travel shows, I discovered distant cuisines and communities, and now places as seemingly remote as the Congo and Beirut have opened to me, a Jewish girl from the Bay Area, thanks to your thorough pursuit of knowledge—better yet, of understanding.

You are the guide that makes these parts knowable. You can enter any room with your balance of acerbic wit, total respect and sincere curiosity, and disarm people, connect with them, truly see them. You taught me that flavors are a gateway into other worlds, a bridge across continents and eras.

You have introduced me to some of my very favorite tastes and most vibrant memories—Under Bridge Spicy Crab and roasted goose in Hong Kong, “carrot cake” in Singapore, fresh cheese with local honey in Sardinia (a stop on my honeymoon with the express purpose of eating what we watched you eat there). An episode of “No Reservations” featuring an endless green noodle brought me, miraculously, (after attempts to communicate its whereabouts to two different cab drivers) to a noodle shop in Beijing, where I got to deploy my Rosetta Stone-practiced Mandarin, “two beers and one tea, please.”

I am lucky to have had many food-lover influences in my life. But it was you who saved me from inheriting my Mom’s germophobia (my brother got it, sadly), by showing me that a willingness to commune over a choice cut of “squeezle” or glass after glass of home-brewed Chinese moonshine will pay dividends in experience, even if it may wreak havoc on the digestive system.

Your veneration for other food cultures inspires me to want to taste the world. Your humility in writing that the more you travel, the less you know fuels my curiosity and my sense of adventure. I am proud to claim you as an American ambassador to other lands. Your tough-guy persona belies a deep commitment to the values of respect, humility and kindness.

Before I had the terminology for what I was, (“foodie” is so obnoxious, anyhow), I was simply someone who had an insatiable hunger for travel, for chocolate almond croissants, galaktabourekos, lamb vindaloo and claypot chicken. And you were my beacon, guiding me to the certainty that a life devoted to making a true connection over a shared plate was possible, even admirable. You showed me that food is the universal language that tells our stories when words cannot. Someday I hope to be half the explorer and translator that you are.

One night a few years ago, a group of friends and I ordered a pizza to share. When I asked one friend if she wanted a second slice, she said something I am not used to hearing. She said, “no thanks, I’m watching my weight.”

I thought, “How honest! How quaint!” To the best of my knowledge, that phrase had been entirely supplanted with a slew of euphemistic slogans, the maxims of modern eating. It seems at least half of the people I know identify as some variation of vegan, vegetarian, gluten-free, dairy free, pescatarian, paleo, VB6 (vegan before 6PM), “on a cleanse,” (which can mean a wide array of things), or some such other yet-to-be-popularized catchall. And I do mean “identify,” because these dietary restrictions have really become statements of worldview, almost political terms. What they all boil down to, I think, if I’m being compassionate and objective, is this: I want to feel healthy and trim. I don’t know quite yet what the most natural way to eat is, but I think I can ascribe to this movement for now, because it seems ethical and healthful.

I’m lucky enough to live now in a city that is pretty much at the forefront of the health food movement, so I’m never far away from a place where I know I can grab something I’ll feel good about eating. I’m excited to delve into one of them, a newcomer that I find I’m already craving regularly called Kye’s Super Tasty Super Foods.

I know, I know: superfood. Does the mere mention of the term induce a shudder? Let’s all agree that it’s a marketing term that has not been defined or regulated by any particular institution of health, and that I’m happy to eat a food and call it “super” if it’s nutrient-dense and delicious, but I don’t expect it to cure my medical ailments or make me immortal.

Ok, I’m done with the disclaimers! Let’s get to it. Let’s talk about Kye’s on Montana. When Kye’s opened a few months ago, I was eager to try it out. It looked so inviting, with the bright sunburst wall, the modern, clean fast-food-joint-looking interior, and the enigmatic photo that graced its door for the months leading up to its debut: what were those weird tube things? They looked like long sushi rolls. Were they juices? Were they salads in a highball glass? What was I looking at?

Photo courtesy of Kye's

What I was looking at were KyeRitos, the signature creation of Kye’s founder Jeanne Cheng. They’re basically nori or lettuce wraps with all sorts of tasty fillings, most Asian-inspired, most including rice or quinoa, plus veggies, eggs, salmon, even BBQ pork or pastrami. They can all be made paleo by adding avocado instead of rice, and many can be made vegan. My favorite, the Nahn Jim ($10), is a nori wrap with red, black, and white rice, pressed vegetables, macadamia nuts, fish sauce and hemp seeds. It’s a little sweet and a little spicy, crunchy from the pressed vegetables, nutty, with the crispy, salty nori in every bite. It’s a perfect portable lunch.

I will admit, my first few times visiting Kye’s, I was a little confused. The food was so tasty—my first KyeRito was the Macro ($14), which is basically a Nahn Jim with salmon, and I was very pleasantly surprised. It was filling, perfectly seasoned and flavorful, and seriously made me feel good when I ate it. But I didn’t really “get” the concept. Why was a place with the word “Superfoods” in the name serving pastrami and something called “pork fuzz?” That didn’t really smack of “superfood” to me.

But then I sat down with Jeanne, the owner. I asked her about her concept, and what she said made perfect sense: she wanted to offer food that was healthful, but appealed to every kind of eater. She has a husband who eats paleo, and a young son (Kye) who wants to eat what tastes good. Meanwhile, she’s of Chinese descent and credits her fast metabolism to the large amount of rice that is integral to her diet—paleo just doesn’t work for her. She doesn’t want to tell people how to eat, she wants to use her background in both traditional and Eastern medicine to offer up wholesome cuisine accessible for all palates and diets.

“If Twinkies were healthy, we would all choose to eat Twinkies,” she said. Her food “satisfies both the Yin (nourishment) and the Yang (enjoyment) of why we eat.”

And I get that. That really resonates with me. I like that she doesn’t presume to tell me how to eat. I like that I can count on whatever I get there being at best incredibly nutrient-dense and clean, at worst a healthier take on something that seems naughty, and invariably truly yummy. A vegan mint chip “shake” ($8) is sweetened with agave and gets its green color from spinach and its mint flavor from actual fresh mint. It is a really good mint chip shake by any standard. The chocolate shake ($8) is so chocolatey. So chocolatey! It feels decadent, but it’s vegan and also contains spinach and Chinese Yam. The avo and fuzz breakfast KyeRito is playful and delicious, with green eggs and that mysterious pork fuzz. (Also known by the appetizing term “meat floss,” pork fuzz is made by stewing cuts of pork in a soy sauce mixture until the muscle fibers can be pulled apart, creating a sort of coarse cotton texture.) Apparently this fuzz is something all Chinese kids grow up eating.

Kye’s is in good company on Montana in Santa Monica, which is rapidly becoming an enclave of juice bars and health food restaurants, most of which I think are pretty terrific. I’ve been popping into Beaming almost daily since it opened just a few weeks ago, taking full advantage of the samples they always have on offer, and for better or worse, have become completely hooked on their $12 acai bowl. It kind of hurts to pay that much for an acai bowl, but it’s packed with protein, and it’s big enough for a meal. I had it for lunch two days ago after a run, and felt sufficiently sated and self-satisfied to merit the $12. Hey, being able to pat yourself on the back for your virtuous food choice is kind of priceless.

I've noticed this year that certain pioneering chefs are staking out their corners of our city for their rapidly developing gastronomical test labs.It’s exciting to see Josef Centeno making Downtown his stomping grounds, giving us Mexican inspired cuisine in completely unexpected ways, and fusions that shouldn’t work but sing.Gjelina is expanding its Venice empire with a new “bakery” that is, frankly, the stuff of dreams.Gjusta is a bustling agora of house cured meats and terrines, cakes and pastries, fresh baked bread, slow cooked brisket and pastrami sandwiches, where what seems like a staff of thousands is always busily executing myriad tasks in the vast open kitchen.At the Line Hotel in Koreatown, Roy Choi has planted his flag with two restaurants, the traditional Korean POT and the greenhouse aerie Commissary, where Choi delivers what he would serve at “family meal” to seasoned restaurant staff.

The point is: LA is a sprawling array of fascinating microcosms, and a freaking cool place to explore for a curious and open person, especially if that person loves food as a gateway to new experiences.I will travel for a food adventure.But I’ll also travel outside of my neighborhood just for a change of pace, and LA offers boundless day trip possibilities.Whenever I’m feeling stifled, I plan a drive up the PCH, looking for inspiration in Malibu.Or I’ll venture east and spend a day in Monterey Park, trying to figure out how to digest more quickly so I can move on to the next Chinese bakery.

One recent foray took me to Hermosa Beach to visit a writer friend who lives right on the water.As we walked by the sand on a perfectly overcast day, the cloud cover lending a bizarre dreamlike quality to the largely deserted Hermosa pier and boardwalk, I marveled at how his beach town could be so different from mine, just 30 minutes up the coast.Santa Monica has a really nice neighborhood feel and I absolutely love living there, but if you’re on the Montana side, it’s pretty bougie, and if you’re on the beach side, it’s pretty touristy.Hermosa feels sleepier, much less taken in by the gloss of LA.There are actual dive bars here.All the dive bars I’ve been to in LA required password access.There are entire stretches of sidewalk here without a single Lululemon pant in sight.

And there is Brother’s Burritos.A small L-shaped restaurant crowded with tables and stools and an eclectic mix of patrons, Brother’s is the kind of design-your-own burrito (or burrito bowl) place that serves legit pozole on the weekends for $6.75.My friend knows the girl at the register—he comes here once a week.She asks if he wants “the usual.”She explains to me that I will actually get two small burritos with my order; I learn later that the owner’s grandmother used to make two little burritos for him and his brother, so that’s how they serve them.I get a side of guacamole and I don’t regret it.It is limey and chunky.In my twin burritos are large chunks of well-seasoned, marinated grilled chicken, pinto beans, jack cheese, avocado and spicy salsa.

Brother’s isn’t a destination restaurant—there are hundreds of good burrito joints in this town, so maybe I wouldn’t drive out to Hermosa expressly to come here, the way I would drive to San Gabriel for Delicous Food Corner.But I would certainly drive out to Hermosa just because.And while I was there, I would gladly find myself at Brother’s Burritos.I would greet the three local French Bulldogs who often sit outside, I would order a bowl of pozole, and I would eat it at the counter while I watched meat grilling on the flat top.I would walk out, down the pier, and look back at the charming colorful houses dotting the city of Hermosa behind me.I would listen to the ocean, knowing that in an hour, I may be in the heart of Hollywood.But right now, I’m here.

I've written gushingly about Guisados in Boyle Heights, which still serves my favorite taco in Los Angeles. Follow me to this vibrant LA neighborhood just east of Downtown to see how tradition and family infuse the food at Guisados--and why they are building an LA empire, with additions in Echo Park and Downtown LA.

Sometimes, I feel a little protective over my very favorite spots--those restaurants that I visit as often as once a week, places where I have to get my fix. Something inside of me gets greedy and wants to preserve their familiarity, my feelings of ownership about these gems. But today, I'm feeling generous. So I'm sharing the latest episode of LA on 20's web series, and this time I am visiting Tender Greens in Santa Monica with my little brother, Sam.

I find that one of the most difficult things about being on a budget is being able to eat healthfully. Fresh produce, especially organic and sustainably farmed/caught/raised fare just costs more to procure, and sometimes it can feel out of reach for those of us looking to get the most bang for the buck.

Which is why I really treasure Tender Greens. Seriously, it's a special place. Because not only have they created a model where they can offer all of those things--seasonal, ethically raised, fresh, organic food--at an affordable price point, on a large scale, but they go above and beyond by also offering a consistently excellent, inventive specials menu each and every day. I have had a beautifully cooked piece of cod with braised hen of the woods mushrooms for $12. I have had delicious and light pea tendril ravioli with a side of arugula salad for $12 for dinner. Free range beef and pork meatballs in a slowly simmered, rich marinara for $4.

It's cafeteria-style dining, because that's what allows them to offer these really elevated, well-executed, healthy, delicious dishes at that price. But it feels like a nice sit-down restaurant--they have beer and wine on tap, and seasonal and decadent desserts, including some really good vegan ones. There are multiple locations throughout LA and in the Bay Area, San Diego, and Orange County, so wherever you find yourself in California, this affordable and healthy option isn't far away. I really cannot say enough about how cool this place is. So I'll let the video do the rest of the talking. Please enjoy!

I have a good friend who is decidedly NOT a foodie. (I know, shocking, right?) I suspect he may be an over-taster—someone who doesn’t like spicy food or very seasoned, flavorful food because it actually overwhelms his palate in an unpleasant way. Why do I have these suspicions? Well, when asked what his favorite food is, my friend, who has eaten at some very nice restaurants, says he would probably just eat Subway sandwiches and Domino’s Pizza for every meal if he didn’t have to take his girlfriend out. When my husband and I talk about how much we love a sandwich from GTA, for example, our friend suggests that we’re just posturing about loving this sandwich, and if he traded it out for a Subway sandwich and told us it was a $12 sandwich from GTA, we wouldn’t know the difference.

This is obviously patently untrue. I am currently imagining a hilarious blind taste test. Then again, I might have to eat my words—I once saw an episode of Shahs of Sunset in which a bunch of the cast members claimed that in a blind taste test they could easily distinguish Dom Perignon and Cristal from André, and some of them were embarrassingly unsuccessful. I mean, one girl thought they were all André, so that’s a little disconcerting.

Anyway, I think it probably goes without saying that I don’t often turn to this friend for restaurant recommendations. He often used to turn to me for recommendations when he was dating and needed a good spot to take a girl who, presumably, possessed taste buds. But to my surprise, he actually turned me on recently to a great spot in Venice. It’s a little window on Ocean Front Walk, and it specializes in something I don’t often find in LA: Poke.

Poke is that Hawaiian mainstay consisting of big chunks of sushi grade ahi tuna, marinated in some sort of soy or ponzu and citrus, usually with avocado, sesame seeds, and scallions. I don’t always think about poke when I am considering what to get for lunch, probably because it’s not prevalent here, so it’s not on my mind. But really, it’s such a great dish to add into your lunch rotation. It’s full of protein and healthy fats, it’s light and delicious, and it’s a nice deviation from my usual lunch of salad, salad, or maybe salad.

Poke Poke is the brainchild of Hawaiian native and now Venice denizen Jason McVearry, and his wife, Trish. I love how they describe what poke is to Hawaiians, so I’m just going to let you read their version here. Basically it reminds me of how fast food works in Japan—in Tokyo, eating food from a convenience store is not gross. It’s completely normal. You can stop in to a 7-11-style convenience store in Japan and pick up a nice little bento box, omusubi, or oden, pack it up for your lunch, and be set. In Hawaii, where the food is so heavily influenced by Japanese cuisine anyhow, poke is a casual dish one can pick up in a convenience store, too. That’s right—raw fish from a convenience store. But it’s Hawaii! Fish is fresh and local, and the dish is simple, yet elegant.

I would not encourage anyone to eat poke from a California 7-11. But I would certainly encourage everyone to visit Poke Poke and customize the perfect little takeout package of poke—they can do it spicy, small or large, with or without rice, topped with avocado, masago, and any number of variations. You can even get Macadamia nuts on your poke. My favorite is the Aloha Poke with avocado and jalapeño. Everything is affordable, especially if you get it with rice instead of all fish—the large poke bowl with rice is only $11; just $7 for the small.

There are a couple of options for vegetarians, including a large acai bowl for $6 with big chunks of coconut and bananas and granola. I would just suggest asking that they go light on the honey in the acai bowl—it’s nice, but it kind of takes over the flavor profiles of the light, fruity sorbet base.

Considering we seem to be having an LA summer that just won’t quit, a frozen acai bowl or a scoop of lightly marinated ahi sounds like an absolutely perfect lunch. Take a walk down the beach as you eat to complete the Hawaii-in-LA experience. As a bonus, the flies won’t bother you that way. You’ll…know what I mean.

Check out my Instagram (@laon20aday) for pics from lunch with my friend and Oahu-native, Z, who I took with me to authenticate this beachside fish shack. It’s Hawaiian-approved!

I've already written about Noodle Boy, a noodle shop in Rosemead serving one very special dish: Hong Kong style wonton noodle soup. But now I am thrilled to invite you to share an afternoon with my friends and me, slurping noodles at one of my favorite LA spots!

Special thanks as always to my fabulous crew, Ghostlight, and my unflappable producer, the lovely Hesley Harps. And thanks to my wonderful friends Greg and Z, for being up for anything, especially sharing food!

Most days, I’m just trying my darndest to find a salad worth consuming for lunch for $10 or less. It’s not easy. Most of my go-to places for lunch portion salads are really pushing that budget, but I persist because I want to have a healthy, filling meal that I find craveable. So I vacillate among GTA, Artisan Cheese Gallery, Thyme Café, Sycamore Kitchen, True Food Kitchen, and Café Gratitude pretty much every weekday, depending on where I am in this crazy city. I know I can count on them.

You can imagine my genuine delight upon discovering that I could have a delicious, inventive kale salad (who doesn’t want a kale salad? I eat one literally nearly every day,) for just $5 right here in Santa Monica. Sitting down in a cool neighborhood eatery, no pressure to order something else. Just shredded lacinto kale, grapes, sunflower seeds, manchego cheese, quinoa, and a light preserved lemon dressing. A health foodie’s dream. Does that not sound like what every Angeleno seeks at 1PM on a weekday? I actually cannot stress enough the scarcity of a decent $5 salad in LA. This is the only one that comes to mind. And hold on to your seat, because you get a free treat afterwards. A salted chocolate chip cookie with your name on it. May I repeat. Free.

I’m talking about The Misfit’s Bar Fly Lunch special. Each weekday they offer a different menu item for just $5. The only rules are that you must be occupying a bar stool, you can’t save seats, and the special ends at 4PM. Those are pretty agreeable terms. And the specials are not some gross hodgepodge that the chef whipped together with the week’s unused ingredients. They’re menu items that run 2-3 times that price on the everyday lunch menu.

On Mondays you can have this monster of a crunchy, spicy chicken sandwich.

Tuesdays, it's their signature burger. Wednesdays are kale salad days, which works perfectly for me, because I just pop in after I finish up at the glorious Santa Monica Wednesday Farmer’s Market one street over on Arizona. Summer is just the most wonderful time for produce, and I’m savoring the beautiful flavors and colors of that market. The stone fruits, the melons, the heirloom tomatoes, the figs—a feast for both eyes and belly.

The Misfit is simply a cool spot, too. A friend informed me that when he asked the owner what percentage of their clientele was made up of locals, he said 90%. That’s kind of amazing in this neighborhood. It’s a prime piece of real estate, and the rent is probably sky high—I’m sure that’s what contributed to the downfall of its previous tenant, the beloved Anisette. I think all of us denizens of SaMo were shocked and disappointed when that wonderful hall of classic French cuisine and fresh oysters shuttered in 2010. But The Misfit has really taken the space to a new height, constantly filling with a hip younger crowd, thanks to their great bar food, easygoing feel, and attractive brasserie-style interior. The bar features a wall of liquors and glassware that kind of looks like an old apothecary, with a giant cabinet of tiny wooden shelves and distressed mirrors.

And then of course there are those magical chocolate chip cookies that get passed around in a communal bowl to whomever has just finished his meal at the bar. It’s a small gesture, but it hits just the right note. If a $5 kale salad weren’t enough, here’s a free cookie for your troubles. See you again soon.

I recently read this Vice article, my hands-down favorite thing I’ve read on the internet this year, in which the brilliantly witty author, Jamie Lee Curtis Taete, laments the loss of the truly “weird” to the realm of hipness.The article hits such a sweet, perfect note, pinpointing something that’s happening right now in popular culture, while maintaining a fresh and authentic voice.And it’s so true—as Taete puts it, “weirdness, once a pursuit for outsiders, is now cooked up by teams of market researchers, to be regurgitated by the Old Spice Guy or the Geico Gecko…it’s impossible to visit a ‘hidden gem’ without being surrounded by other curiosity seekers Instagramming pics of themselves in official merchandise purchased from the suddenly savvy owners.”

I was immediately reminded of a perfect example of this phenomenon that my husband and I had recently experienced. We were in Tokyo last November, and made a point of visiting an attraction that seemed like the epitome of that perverse and strange Tokyo nightlife one always hears about: a place called Robot Restaurant.Perhaps you’ve heard of it, as it was featured on an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s newest (and most wonderful) show, Parts Unknown.Robot Restaurant is not really a restaurant—though one does receive a “bento box,” its contents are certainly not what Michael Pollan would call “food”—but rather, a small underground black box theater, accessible only by a seemingly endless staircase whose walls are eye-boggling neon-backlit murals of flowers and lizards.In the theater is a boxing ring of sorts, flanked by two seating areas.The audience of around 100 people sits behind some ornamental chains and watches a show that I could only describe as…weird. There are strippers, tanks, guys in Iron Man-esque suits on rollerblades, motorcycles, so many flashing lights, dance routines, fight sequences, and finally, giant robots, honestly really impressive in stature and mobility.They’re the height of 2.5 humans stacked atop one another.They reach their robot arms across the chains and dangle their robotic fingers inches from your face.It’s almost terrifying.Then afterwards, you get to take pictures with them!

Where am I going with this, you may ask?I’m getting there, I promise.You see, when Tony Bourdain went to Robot Restaurant with his crew, I’ll bet it was truly weird and awesome.And it’s still awesome, it’s just that…it’s now nothing but a Disneyland attraction, with a Japanese twist.The audience is more than half tourists; and worst of all, in the 8 months since we posted our cleverly edited Instagram video of RR highlights for all of our friends to view with envy, not one, not two, but three friends from college have posted nearly identical Robot Restaurant videos on their Instagrams.We are not original.In fact, we are the thrill-seeking young urbanites that are making it un-cool for everyone.But how am I supposed to experience something truly weird, without being exposed to it through a medium that, like Parts Unknown, tons of other people seeking similarly weird experiences are also exposed to? Sigh.

Ok, here’s the part where I get to some affordable food in the LA area.There’s a place in Venice that I think is pretty, well, quirky. Ok, it’s not Robot Restaurant pre-Bourdain weird.But it is Venice weird.It’s a cereal bar called Another Kind of Sunrise.It is a shack, or a stand, or something, that closes at 2pm, and by then they’ve usually run out of everything.It’s the kind of place that makes their own nut milk, and a really f-ing good nut milk at that.It’s sort of around the corner from/hiding a chocolate store that is inside of a rabbit hole/giant hollowed out tree trunk. It has a neighborhood feel, it’s the domain of the post-yoga-glow chick, the pregnant mommy in a maxi dress, and the bearded swami.

Ok, (you’re going to hear that a lot in this post, I have a lot of caveats.Deal with it).So okay, you’re in a little alley on the hippest street in Venice.You’re just a block or so away from Gjelina, still one of the hottest reservations in town.And you’re paying the cost of an actual meal ($10) for a smallish paper bowl of raw vegan yogurt and granola.But it’s worth it.For starters the paleo granola is straight up delicious.I have a borderline obsession with it.When I have to have it, I have to have it.It’s clusters of different nuts and seeds and it’s sweet and kind of chewy and crunchy at the same time.I have been known to jump out of a (slowly) moving car and sprint to the stand in order to purchase a cup full of this paleo granola before they close.

What goes under the granola is up to you—there is the standard option, the Acai cashew yogurt.Who in LA has not yet had an Acai bowl?Anyone? But this bowl isn’t your standard issue.It’s not frozen.It’s raw, the consistency of yogurt, and lightly refrigerated.Okay, raw cashew yogurt can make you feel kind of ill if you eat too much of it, especially if you’re not used to a raw vegan diet.Just warning you.But it has a really interesting flavor, and I like it a lot, and it’s quite filling.If the thought of raw cashew yogurt that may or may not make you feel just a tad bit sick to your stomach is not appealing, you may opt for actual cow’s milk (gasp!), or the homemade almond milk instead.This almond milk is not anything like the stuff you get at the grocery store, that grayish water with a few pulverized almonds in it—it’s creamy and rich and delicious.It goes really well with the amazing paleo granola, banana, berries, and coconut flakes.

Their muesli is also downright crave-able.It is soft and crunchy at the same time, with little puffed rice pieces and oats.It is not too sweet, just a hint of honey, maybe from the almond milk.There are plenty of superfruits in there—dried gojis and goldenberries and good-old fashioned raisins for a nice chew.

A couple more caveats for you: I’m not super familiar with the concept of a paleo diet, so I don’t really know what makes the granola “paleo,” or whether that’s actually good for me.Also, the stand sells something called Buttery Brew, or as Shailene Woodley and other in-the-know, painfully hip people with first-world problems call it, Bulletproof Coffee.It’s coffee blended with coconut oil, spices, and ghee. It’s supposed to be a good way to get all of your healthy fats in the morning so that you don’t crave fat throughout the day.It’s also one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever put in my mouth.But hey, that’s just my opinion, man.Some people swear by it.The Yelpers certainly like it. But you know how I feel about Yelp.

I’ve been having discussion déjà vu lately on the subject of Downtown LA. “Downtown is becoming the next Brooklyn,” I keep hearing, (although according to popular opinion, it will have to share that title with Oakland). “You’re having $15 cocktails at a speakeasy and you turn the corner and you’re on skid row!” or some variation on that platitude is another recurring theme. Ok, so I may be guilty of entertaining these discussions—even fueling them with my own aphorisms borrowed from KCRW stories on our most up-and-coming district. I think we can all agree that Downtown is a “developing” area; it’s not quite cool yet, not with most dining options still closing at 8pm and entire sections that look like tent cities, but there are areas where one could definitely spend an afternoon, probably even participate in some twee Portlandia-esque activity like a guided food crawl with a “food Sherpa.” These things exist. The Arts District is quickly becoming one of those sickeningly cute neighborhoods, still feeling undiscovered and raw, but with specialty shops, artisan coffee and hidden cafes popping up left and right. Right now, in fact, I am enjoying an alfresco dining experience in an adorable ivy-covered brick alley off of Industrial Street, sitting at a rustic wooden table, under a blue umbrella and a string of exposed light bulbs. I had a sandwich on olive bread with purple potatoes, a house made veggie patty, ancho chile jam and buratta in it. I struck up a conversation with a lifestyle blogger from Montreal. There is wifi. I even parked for free.
Daily Dose is the perfect embodiment of the new wave in the Arts District—tucked away with only a wooden sign guiding you in its direction, you don’t happen upon this place. It is not yet an area that generates foot traffic. You come here because you are looking for this casual and lovely lunch or brunch spot, where you can eat outside, where you enter through creaky screen doors and order artisan sandwiches off of a simple menu that warns they may run out of ingredients around 2pm. It’s a cute place. And they do a nice job of combining flavors—a crunchy baguette with Serrano chiles, akawi cheese (a soft white Middle-Eastern cheese), avocado, arugula and sauce verte provides a fresh and filling lunch. My Farmer sandwich was heartier, more dangerous—who would think that a veggie patty topped with not only purple potatoes but two kids of sauce, avocado, creamy cheese and heirloom tomato would be delicious? But it was—sweet and savory, soft but not mushy, with a bite of salt from the olive bread, a perfect marriage of flavors. One sandwich provides an ample lunch for even a hungry 6-foot college student like my brother, and will only run you $9-11.

And then there’s the neighborhood. You can wander down the street, past the original bearer of gentrification here, the excellent bistro Church and State, and across to Urban Radish, a painfully adorable specialty market, where I personally want to buy every single item for my (imaginary) home larder. Dark chocolate bars with crunchy bits of honeycomb inside; short-seasoned produce like stinging nettle and watermelon radish; gourmet frozen burritos; brightly colored kitchen utensils; duck Nduja from the charcuterie counter. Nearby you can take your pick of artisan roasted coffee, at either my favorite Portland/NYC transplant, Stumptown, or the Downtown stalwart Handsome Coffee Roasters, which was recently purchased by San Francisco’s Blue Bottle, the progenitor of the artisanal coffee movement. And of course there is LA’s hippest new food truck, Guerrilla Tacos, an Alain Ducasse-trained chef’s constantly rotating take on street food, which parks outside of Blacktop Coffee most days during lunchtime. Apparently after Blue Bottle bought Handsome, Handsome's founder set out to create another community-oriented coffee shop--a brief origin story of Blacktop, of and Guerrilla Tacos' move from their former parking spot outside of Handsome.

This part of LA still has the charm of feeling somewhat unexplored, and at least for now, Daily Dose is pleasantly uncrowded on a Friday afternoon at 2. So catch it while you can—as with all good, things, the masses are sure to descend upon it shortly. It will be featured on the Food Network and you’ll have to wait an hour for your sandwich and Kombucha. Soon afterwards, Brooklyn will be declared as dead as Pittsburg and Watts will be the new Austin. Maybe.

The state of Israel turned 66 last week, on May 6. American Jews celebrate Israeli Independence Day in the same way Jews celebrate everything—we eat! And so it was with great pleasure that I sat down to a heaping plate of Israeli food on Tuesday night at the synagogue where I teach. Did you know I teach a Jewish cooking class to 7th graders? Salatim, the various little Israeli salads—beet salad, sauerkraut, purple cabbage, Israeli salad (diced cucumber and tomato with vinaigrette and herbs), hummus, babaganoush, and tahini—topped my pita stuffed with falafel. On the side, grape leaves filled with rice, and on top of everything, two Israeli hot sauces, or skhugs, one green and one red. This feast was catered by Ta-Eem Grill in Hollywood, and I was extremely impressed with the authenticity and flavor of the food. The hot sauce was hot, for starters. Polishing off my generously stuffed pita, I was transported back to the time I gained 5 pounds in a week in Israel. Israeli food is many things, but light isn’t one. And when I travel, I take my fill of everything—it’s not often I’m in Israel, so I leave no schwarma untasted on my short journeys to the homeland.
I’ve never been to Ta-Eem in person, but I do have a favorite falafel establishment near me, a place that feels like an escape, a wormhole from Santa Monica to the Middle East. It is a humble stand-alone building on one of the more dilapidated Santa Monica blocks of Pico Boulevard. Hungry Pocket Falafel is located in a small strip mall next to a constantly rotating tenant—it’s been two different yogurt shops and a boba shop in the few years I’ve been aware of it—but Hungry Pocket stays steadfast and unchanged. The interior is tiled like a subway bathroom; there are a few tables in the small space, and a counter that opens to the schwarma rotisserie and flattop. There are freshly pressed juices—carrot and orange and beet, not the trendy kind; there are cubes of salty, crumbly house made feta; hand stuffed dolmas and potent house hot sauce, served in a communal bowl that is passed from table to table on request. There is fresh tabbouleh, one of my favorite versions of this grain salad, herbaceous and lemony. There is of course falafel, there is schwarma, there are gyros and kebab. A falafel sandwich here costs a whopping $4.75, and you can choose whole-wheat pita. I believe there are all-you-can eat falafel nights on Mondays and Wednesdays for $8.75, though I have never participated—I do attempt to practice moderation when I am not traveling.

It is the care taken with the little things here that make it special, and after I’ve consumed their wonderful babaganoush and chicken kebab, I turn my thoughts towards baklava. For $1.35 I can enjoy a small square of gooey, chewy, homemade baklava, all phyllo and nuts and honey and nothing else. Like Hungry Pocket itself, the baklava has no superfluous ingredients. Except maybe a little bit of love.

The Sausage Fest tradition began in college. We frequented a San Francisco eatery called Rosamunde that offered gourmet sausages in all varieties, from Knockwurst to Andouille to Wild Boar. That was a simpler time, when Rosamunde was a standing-room-only unless you want to eat in the bar next door, kind of a place. They have now expanded to four locations, including one in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and they serve brunch. We were going there when the Mission location was still a little seedy, instead of being one of the hippest and most sought-after places to live in the country. But we’re trendsetters that way. We used to buy up a boatload of raw sausages from Rosamunde, bring them back to our apartment off-campus in Menlo Park, where we had furnished a 1000-square foot two-bedroom with one mini-futon from Ikea, a shoddy unfinished birch 4-seater dining table and a small charcoal Weber grill, and we gathered all of our friends for beer and grilled meat. It was a blast. And more importantly, it was a tradition.

In our quest for gourmet sausages worthy of The Fest when we moved to LA, we discovered a holy grail of exotic sausage. Wurstküche goes beyond your average elevated street dog and offers duck and bacon sausages, alligator and pork sausages, even rattlesnake and rabbit sausages. An adventurous eater can go wild here. They still have the classics, of course: a delicious hot Italian, Brats, and I love the buffalo, beef and pork with chipotle peppers. They have a few different tasty chicken and turkey sausages for the Kosher or health-minded among us, and like Rosamunde, they even offer vegan sausages, and not bad ones either. So everyone can get in on the action.

Wurstküche is also housed in a great space, open and airy and light during the day with a nice ivy-lined patio and fire pit, and clubby and hopping at night. The brick interior features a long bar with many, many taps of constantly rotating Belgian and German craft beers, a different glass for each and every one lining the wall. I asked my husband and our friend Mel to join me for an afternoon of sausages and beers at Wurstküche, and I brought my film crew along too so you could experience the delight of Belgian fries, Merguez sausage and Guden beer firsthand. Please enjoy!

Special thanks as always to my crew, the fabulous David and James Codeglia of Ghostlight, and my producer extraordinaire, Hesley Harps.

Every college town has its local favorite spots where students gather off-campus, seeking to settle in for an afternoon and an affordable meal, places where one could ostensibly get work done and still enjoy some atmosphere. In Palo Alto the choice hangout was inarguably Coupa Café, a large but cozy Venezuelan place serving arepas and sweet, creamy coffee beverages (coffee being the lifeblood of the college student). We would gather around the fireplace in the back room, sinking into couches and digging in to crêpes or arepas or tortas, gossiping, refueling, maybe even writing an essay or two. I wouldn’t say the arepas or the crêpes were the best I’ve ever had. But we went there for the vibe.
Coupa Café actually has a location in Beverly Hills, and I admit I have yet to visit, perhaps for unfair reasons. You see, Coupa Café now has a location on Stanford campus, which is very nice for them—but they took over the space of a beloved campus coffee stand called MoonBeam’s, a small business type of place where I made many fond memories, and for that I begrudge them. Most likely you do not care a whit that Coupa ousted my beloved MoonBeam’s, and I don’t blame you. Feel free to try Coupa Café in Beverly Hills. I promise I will give it a shot soon.

I, however, have a more than suitable substitute right here in Santa Monica, which I happen to think is a pretty crafty find, considering the rarity of arepas on the LA food landscape. Café Bolívar has all the trappings of a college town hangout—free wifi, rotating art installations, cute little wooden bookshelf in the back, strong coffee. It even has that one table that is clearly superior to the others, nestled in an enclave by the window and equipped with the only comfy looking chairs in the café, two giant stuffed orange monstrosities with wings. This table is always taken, I suspect by Santa Monica College students who stake it out early. The arepas are better here, I find, than Coupa’s offerings, though that may be a grudge-based opinion. They are petite, made to order, with white cornmeal. Arepas are kind of like pupusas, but fluffier—they’re puffed up cornmeal pancakes that are split in half and stuffed like little sandwiches. Always crunchy on the outside with a soft, warm polenta-like inside, Bolivar’s little pockets of corn stuffed with stews or cheeses are hearty and filling.

The minimum order is two arepas, and they range in price from $4-$6. Two arepas are perfect to fill me up for lunch. My favorite is probably the pulled pork shoulder cooked in Caribbean spices for 8 hours. I find Caribbean spices are more sort of earthy or warm than Mexican spice, which has more of a bite. Caribbean spices include those Christmas-y flavors—nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice and clove—so there’s more of a slow burn and less of a punch in the face.

I also love the simple black bean and fresh white cheese, and the very strange sounding but delicious tasting sliced mango with avocado, fresh white cheese, garlic confit and rosemary aioli.

Sidebar: Have you noticed that most other countries make cheese much better than we do? I have. Is it our penchant for sanitizing the shit out of our dairy that robs our cheese of flavor? Think about it—buffalla mozzarella from Italy is the gold standard by which all cheeses are measured, in my opinion, and we all know French camembert, pungent and assertive, kicks the ass of sad, mild American cheddar. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to eat “mild” anything. Israeli dairy is smooth and decadent—yogurt, widely considered a diet food in the US, is made there with full fat dairy, so a small container of rich, smooth unsweetened Israeli yogurt makes the perfect breakfast. I never understood what cottage cheese was supposed to taste like until I had it in Israel. Manchego from Spain is salty and earthy, and I love Mexican queso fresco and crema because it always tastes richer and stronger than other cheese. The fresh white cheese at Bolívar has a texture most similar to ricotta salata, and is sliced and piled liberally and stuffed into warm arepas with stewed black beans or mango.

All arepas here are served with a delicious green guasacaca sauce, a blend of cilantro, oil, vinegar and garlic. I always attempt to discard the ends of the arepa that don’t have any stuffing left on them, but invariably end up dredging them with guasacaca sauce and devouring them.

Bolivar also has the sweetened coffee beverages that seem to be a Venezuelan mainstay, my favorite being the Café Bolívar, a latte sweetened with condensed milk. They have a variety of smoothies and breakfast items, including a really nice veggie bagel, toasted and topped with cream cheese, tomato, avocado and red onion. The best part of their veggie bagel, that little touch that puts it over the edge, is the drizzle of fruity olive oil and sprinkling of sea salt and briny capers to finish.

I love a real neighborhood café that’s not fancy and not a hole in the wall either. Café Bolívar feels like a hidden gem, and it’s a welcome deviation from my usual lunch of a big salad or soup. Venezuelan cuisine is not a hot trend right now, and that’s what feels just right about Bolívar—it’s a discovery.

Lately I’ve really been falling in love with Malibu. This beach town that seems isolated from the rest of LA, easy to dismiss as an enclave of affluence and snobbery, truly offers more than meets the eye. Of course it is an absolutely beautiful place to be, and when I drive up the PCH, each time I turn a corner and see a breathtaking vista of hills and ocean, I am reminded that yes, there is some natural beauty to be found in this sprawling, smoggy city. I know we are very lucky to live in a place with perfect year-round weather and a long stretch of Pacific coastline, but I do think it’s easy to forget how lovely this city can be when you’re driving back and forth to Hollywood or Downtown every day, staring at taillights on the 10 or construction on La Brea. The drive up to Malibu is free, and it’s really a welcome retreat.
Another thing I love about Malibu is that it’s actually quite eclectic. Certainly, Malibu is home to Nobu and Geoffrey’s and the swank Malibu Country Mart, the most luxurious mall I’ve ever visited. But Malibu is also home to Cholada Thai and Malibu Seafood, two wonderful casual dining spots with beach shack vibes and relatively cheap, delicious eats. I love that over the span of one lazy afternoon spent lounging, reading, surreptitiously people watching outside of the excellent Cafecito Organico, one will probably spot at least two celebs, most likely sipping a juice or a smoothie from the popular health food spot Sun Life Organics, followed by a bunch of shoeless teenagers eating breakfast burritos from Lily’s, followed by a couple of crazy people screaming about the day's headlines. You will probably witness someone trying to get his or her script to one of the celebs, and a really hot, expensively swathed mom striking up a conversation and planning to meet up later with a young aspiring model guy. I have had a couple of delightfully strange afternoons eating my dragon bowl from Sun Life and watching it all go down.

But this is a blog about cheap eats, and I am not going to suggest that you shell out $10 or more for a Sun Life smoothie (even though I do think they’re worth it). Instead, I have a Malibu offering that will never break the bank and always over-deliver. Country Kitchen is a roadside walk-up counter under a blue awning that serves breakfast burritos all day, and you will be blown away by the deliciousness of these $5 burritos. On my first venture to Country Kitchen I ordered the burrito with egg, cheese and potatoes, and added avocado and salsa. Boy did I get a pleasant surprise when I bit into my burrito to find that the potatoes were in fact some sort of hash brown incorporated into the filling. The result was a salty, slightly spicy, eggy, cheesy, crunchy, savory breakfast of the Gods. The salsa is perhaps not spicy enough for my fiery tastes, but it is flavorful and chunky and the big pieces of tomato add a needed freshness to the burrito. The creamy avocado is the perfect foil to the crunchy potato.

There is something respectable, I think, about the fact that this place is selling coffee that is considerably worse than anything I have had off the free beverage cart on an airplane. I wouldn’t recommend buying the coffee, but I like that Country Kitchen does not have one bit of snobbishness about it. It is a legit beach shack with some old school, homestyle eats. They also offer burgers, grilled cheeses, etc. It may stick to your ribs, and you may want to wait until after you hit the beach to hit Country Kitchen. But some things are just worth a calorie splurge. And for $5, you will be full and happy for quite some time.

Incidentally, it was a student who originally suggested Country Kitchen to me, and when my husband first tasted his breakfast burrito there, he proclaimed that whoever told me about this place should get his Golden Aleph (a prize we award students with much ado when they learn every letter and vowel in the Hebrew alphabet). That’s an endorsement!

I am extremely excited to announce the launch of LA on 20 a Day’s webseries! I’ve created a series of short videos to help you get a better feel for my favorite places to eat on a budget, and to tell the story of LA’s food scene right now. And of course, to tantalize your taste buds with some moving food porn! Our inaugural episode introduces a new food truck that I am really pleased to have discovered. The concept is simple—good food that everyone can recognize, done right. No strange fusion or spiral foods on a stick. Everything you want between two perfectly buttered and toasted buns can be found at Son of a Bun. I’ll let the video do the rest of the talking! Please watch, enjoy and share!

Many thanks to my incredible production team, David and James Codeglia of Ghostlight, and my multitalented friend and producer, Hesley Harps.

When my husband and I traveled to Tokyo for the first time in November, we feasted on a vast array of Japanese delights, from soba to sushi, yakitori to Yamazaki (read all about the trip in great detail here). One delight perhaps unrivaled on the trip was to be found at breakfast time, in the lovely dining room of our hotel. We stayed at the Park Hyatt, where the film “Lost in Translation” was shot, a luxury we certainly couldn’t have afforded but for the fact that we have a lot of flexible travel points. The hotel was the epitome of refinement, and the staff, like everyone we met in Japan, was beyond polite. Once at breakfast someone on the wait staff noticed I had opened a packet of Vitamin C powder and was pouring it into my water glass. I opened my mouth to say to my husband, “I need a—" when the man appeared at my side with a small spoon on a napkin. It was unreal.
Breakfast was included in our room rate at the Park Hyatt, and they had a lovely buffet as you may imagine, as well as a variety of menu items available, but the real treat was the Japanese Breakfast. A dazzling array of different delicacies—smoked salmon filets with a wedge of lemon and a tiny bite of sweet potato in a perfect cylinder; miso soup; steamed Japanese vegetables with sesame sauce; tamago; tiny fish (eels?) with salt and lemon; burdock and carrot salad; steamed rice, and my favorite part, two varieties of fresh tofu and boiled spinach, meant to be spooned out of their broth with a small grate provided to each diner and dipped in a ponzu/soy sauce soup. The tofu was heavenly, the consistency soft and delicate. Every item was preciously plated, light and delicious. This breakfast was a meal that made you feel…spoiled.

Japanese Breakfast at the Park Hyatt

I have always thought that Japanese breakfast as we know it was perhaps a hotel invention, or at least something rarely found outside of hotel dining rooms. I know I have seen it offered at many hotels in Hawaii, and now in Japan, but had yet to find it on a restaurant menu in LA or elsewhere. You may imagine my delight at discovering Fukugawa in Gardena. Tucked into a back corner of a large strip mall, Fukugawa is a large but cozy feeling restaurant, the décor featuring paper lantern light fixtures and sliding wood paneled doors, a tatami room, and some sort of Japanese history diorama behind glass. For lunch and dinner Fukagawa is a very decent soba/udon/tempura/shabu shabu spot, but every morning from 7-11 it offers what I have so long sought out—a refined, light, and delicious Japanese breakfast. And for quite a bit less than the Park Hyatt.

I can’t resist a meal that consists of many different little dishes—variety excites me. The Japanese breakfast combinations at Fukagawa, with their endless options and variations (see dizzying chart below), provide that special experience of tasting and choosing bites. I love to opt for combination C for $10.95: grilled mackerel or salmon, marinated tofu with scallion and bonito flakes, Japanese pickles, steamed rice, seaweed, egg (4 choices for how you like your egg, I highly recommend Dashimaki, the sweet omelet I know as Tamago at sushi restaurants,) and miso soup. The miso soup is a variation on the norm, with that spongy, almost tripe-textured inari type tofu and a lot of onion cooked down in the broth. The mackerel is moist, salty, and flaky, the salmon is meaty and moist with crispy skin. There are meatless combinations for less $ on offer as well (though not vegetarian, dashi and bonito are fish products), or you can select Spanish mackerel or steak with your combo C. I’m not generally a one-meal-a-day type of person, but if you arrive at 10:50 and have this breakfast for brunch, it will really fill you up without feeling heavy.

Fukagawa breakfast menu

I know I have perhaps favored Japanese cuisine in my selections for this blog; I could say that’s because we have an embarrassment of riches in LA when it comes to Japanese food, with Little Osaka on Sawtelle in West LA, Little Tokyo downtown and Torrance/Gardena in the South Bay all offering dozens of authentic, specialized restaurants. More truthfully, it is most likely because I find that Japanese food is probably the best cuisine on Earth. I think the sheer variety, the fact that you could probably eat 50 completely different bowls of ramen in LA alone, is incredible. In Tokyo we had dinner at a Michelin starred soba restaurant, and I had a kind of soba I’ve never seen before, the buckwheat noodles flat and wide like Tagliatelle. There is no doubt that I will be posting many more Japanese recommendations this year and in the years to come, but to start off 2014, I am happy to pay homage to my highlight of last year, the delightful five days we spent in Tokyo, by sharing Fukagawa. I hope you enjoy an opportunity to indulge in that elusive treat, the Japanese breakfast.

To celebrate our one-year wedding anniversary, my husband and I fulfilled a longtime dream and traveled to Japan in November. We spent five marvelous days in Tokyo (and I mean that literally, as we marveled at the endless curiosities the city has to offer) before moving on to visit Singapore and Hong Kong. (We couldn’t resist a stop in Hong Kong, our all-time favorite city, since we were already flying out to East Asia.) It was our first time in Singapore, and the food was incredible, a unique blend of Indian, Malay and Chinese cuisine with a twist, but a discussion for another post.
Tokyo was a wonderland to me, every corner of the city offering a glimpse into a world I knew I could not fully comprehend. No, not even close. From the meticulously polite and self-effacing culture to the seemingly infinite variations on the food we know as “Japanese cuisine,” e.g. soba, udon, yakitori, Japanese BBQ, to the beyond strange experience of certain Tokyo nightlife attractions, I made a feeble and wide-eyed attempt to absorb it all. Each and every alleyway, every tiny yakitori joint or 8-seater bar, every small boutique or coffee shop we passed seemed like a can’t-miss. We did a healthy mix of walking around the Shinjuku, Shibuya and Harajuku areas, exploring whichever shops and bakeries we came upon that looked intriguing, and visiting our designated points of interest, including the legendary Sukiyabashi Jiro, of “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” fame. Yes, Jiro himself hand made and placed each piece of nigiri in front of us. It was a pretty incredible experience. And a fast one! We were in and out in 25 minutes. We ate 19 pieces of sushi, beginning with a firm and flavorful sole fish and ending with that unrivaled Tamago that plays such a featured role in the documentary. The piece of Tamago, an egg cake of sorts, was revelatory. Sweet and fluffy and truly unlike anything else we’ve tasted. We had Sea Eel the consistency of custard, and Ark Shell, a clam I had never even heard of before.

We also had some incredible meals under $20, most notably those we found wandering down Yakitori Alley in Shinjuku, an alleyway near the train station dotted with tiny yakitori restaurants, each one similar in its coziness and offerings. We had no way of knowing which was a good one, our only guide being our noses and an intentional passing over of anywhere boasting “English menu.” We pointed. We ate. We drank cold Asahi Super Dry and feasted on chicken meatballs and whole salted coal-roasted fish. It was a delight.

We were pleasantly surprised to find that an artisan coffee culture has blossomed in Tokyo and there are now dozens of wonderful coffee houses to rival Intelligentsia or Blue Bottle here in California. Easily the best coffee experience we had was at the wonderfully cozy Chatei Hatou in Shibuya. Tucked away in an alley, with only a small sign featuring a decorative bird to indicate its presence, Chatei Hatou is both lavish and quaint inside, a little sanctuary of deliciously strong pour-overs, chiffon cake, and mismatched gilded china. An oversized vase bursting with flowers and branches that reach the beamed ceiling tops a wooden table adorned with small art nouveau style lamps. The wall is lined with different glassware and hundreds of pretty teacups, no two alike.

Enticed by the photos on the restaurant sign next door, we ventured downstairs to a Japanese BBQ restaurant. The host quickly ushered us to a back room, our own little stone cave with a sliding door shielding us from view (perhaps the foreigner treatment)? We removed our shoes and slid onto bamboo mats in front of a grill built into the table. As in most worthwhile establishments, the menu was again all in Japanese and we pointed to our selections from a plate of different raw meats the server brought to demonstrate our options. We asked for beer and he delivered two steins of Kirin the size of our heads. The marbled meat sizzled on the grill, curling and dripping and developing delicious sear. It was fatty and chewy and meaty, and we dipped it in thick Worcestershire-esque sauce and ate it over rice. The lunch also included a fresh side salad with tofu, and the entire thing came out to around $10/person.

We did more than just eat in Japan, surprisingly enough—we visited some lovely gardens in Shinjuku and Bunkyo, and walked for hours around Yoyogi Park, saw the Meiji Shrine there, and came out the other side to shop in Harajuku. We contemplated purchasing a small monkey from a pet store near our hotel, but settled for a video of him hopping around in his little cage and emitting tiny howls. We also stopped into a number of Tokyo’s famously tiny bars and sampled cocktails and Japanese whiskies. At one such establishment, a refined and intimate underground bar in Ginza known for its mixology called Star Bar, we passed an hour drinking G+T’s with fresh pear puree, chatting with the bartender about Tokyo and comparing its bars to those in the US. At one point, the bartender had come out from behind the bar to help a businessman who had been sitting next to us with his coat. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and when I turned he said, “Excuse me, but this gentleman would like to say something to you.” The businessman, who spoke too little English to participate in our earlier conversation, smiled and said, “I hope you enjoy your time in Tokyo.” That was all.

That moment really stuck with me as an indication of the extreme kindness, politeness, and humility we encountered throughout our short stay in Japan. I had about a thousand questions I wished I could ask about the culture there, but I didn’t have the vocabulary to explore them. For someone without any knowledge of Japanese, navigating Tokyo is not easy. But the city offers so very many rewards for your efforts.

Inside a Japanese supermarket in an unremarkable stretch of West LA there is a very special, wonderful place. I go there when I feel a cold coming on, have had a taxing day, or just need something wholesome and soothing and delicious, and it invites me into its world of delights. It is a food court, florescent lighting illuminating such décor elements as a community bulletin board, an early 90s-era TV bolted to a corner of the ceiling, and glossy faux wood tables. I generally find it has a cure for whatever ails me.
A visit to Mitsuwa begins with a selection—will it be udon or soba from Sanuki? Tempura from Hannosuke? Or ramen from Santouka? You will order, pay in cash, receive a stub with a number, and search for an open table. You will wait, listening to a steady roll call of orders from the different restaurants being called over a loudspeaker. Your number is finally called—your time has come! You rush over to retrieve your cafeteria tray with steaming bowl of one or another Japanese comfort food.

Before my first visit to Santouka, I was under the impression that ramen broth was much like pho broth—clear and smooth, a thin but flavorful vehicle for the slurping of noodles. As it turns out, I was mistaken. This Hokkaido style ramen broth is murky and gritty, and unbelievably rich and fatty and flavorful. I could hardly believe my taste buds when I first sipped the salt ramen broth. This broth is no mere vehicle; it’s the epitome of comfort food, it warms your body and coats your mouth with its rich, deep pork flavor. After a long day of teaching, it’s the first thing I crave.

Santouka offers a variety of options—spicy miso broth, soy broth, and salt broth, small/medium/large bowls, and combination dinners that include pork on rice, fermented soybeans on rice, or salmon roe on rice and all come with a soy sauce tinted hard-boiled egg. I’ve had them all, and I am compelled to steer you towards the salt ramen. While the others are delicious, the salt ramen is unlike anything else I’ve ever tasted. It comes topped with two precious slices of the tenderest, meatiest pork you could hope for, a pink-swirled fish cake, some delightfully rubbery dark brown mushroom pieces, a few root vegetable slices and a pile of chopped scallion. The noodles are spindly and springy and chewy with a bit of a bite to them, the perfect noodle texture.

You also have the option to spring for the “special pork,” a few extra pieces of even fattier, meltier meat, if you can imagine that, but rather than spending extra for the pork, I would recommend spending an extra few bucks for a combo with the salmon roe on rice. Even if you can only manage a few bites of the salmon roe after downing a most perfect bowl of ramen, it’s worth it. The plump orange pearls of salmon egg are bursting with briny flavor. It’s a treat that’s worth at least trying. Even with the salmon roe rice and the egg, a small ramen combo is only $11.50. One word to the wise: if your palate is like mine, somewhat unaccustomed to what the Japanese may consider mundane, the fermented soybean on rice (natto) is one of the worst things you’ve ever tasted. Perhaps you’re not like me, and you enjoy the taste of slimy rotting soy sauce. Still, I feel obligated to give you fair warning on such things.

Next to Santouka you will find one of my favorite spots for udon and soba. Sanuki is probably the cheapest of the Mitsuwa restaurants—as in I always get change for $10 and leave stuffed—which is only a minor part of why I find myself there so frequently, eagerly dipping in to a huge, steaming bowl of delicious fish broth.

It is a matter of personal preference, but despite my unequivocal love of Japanese food in its many varieties, I often find Japanese broths to be too fishy tasting for me. I’ve never been a devotee of miso soup, for example. So even though I do certainly worship at the temple of udon and soba noodles, the one stick in my craw is that amongst the extremely complex layers of flavors in Asian broths, I sometimes encounter one that strikes a slightly unfavorable note. The point I am getting at here is that the flavors of the broth at Sanuki are beautifully harmonious, without a hint of dissonance—the broth is translucent and the flavor is deep and complex, a little bit sweet, and not very fishy. It is fish based, but it doesn’t taste quite so much of kombu as the more upscale udon broths I’ve tasted. Just saying. A big bowl of Sanuki’s broth with their chewy, squiggly udon noodles is heaven on earth if you feel a little under the weather. I usually go for the chicken or fried bean curd on my soup. Do yourself a favor and whatever you order, get a side of the fried bean curd, (warm please). Even if you’ve ordered the bean curd udon, you will want more. I always do. It’s so sweet and fluffy and has that uniquely spongy inari texture.

This brings me to the tempura portion of the evening. In general, I’ll be honest, I try to not to make my dinner entirely out of deep fried things. It doesn’t seem prudent, longevity-wise. But the tempura at Hannosuke is so unique as to be a must-try and will definitely have you hooked. The most intriguing feature of this Tokyo transplant’s fare is that the tempura sauce is fried into the batter, miraculously. No dipping required. It’s like those Eggo waffles with maple syrup crystals inside the waffles. Well, it’s nothing like that, because this doesn’t come out of your toaster somehow simultaneously dry and soggy. But it’s the same idea.

The tempura battered shishito peppers, white fish, squid, shrimp, prawn, sweet potato, seaweed and poached egg (yes, a tempura-fried poached egg to crack over your rice bowl), come out crisp and crunchy and sweet. They’re all served over a large bowl of white rice, which contains a delicious surprise—thick, sweet sauce hiding below the surface.

These three gems comprise my happy place, my go-to when nothing else feels right for dinner. There is a fourth restaurant in the food court, and it’s perfectly fine. They serve bento boxes with standbys like katsu and teriyaki. It’s not bad at all, it’s just that the other three places are perfect. I ritualistically end my meals at Mitsuwa by browsing the endless wonders in the candy aisle of the supermarket. From gooey aloe flavored gummies to shrimp chips to green tea flavored Kit-Kats, I can’t even begin to list the vast array of unfamiliar sweets in that grocery store. There are probably thirty completely different things just shaped like pandas. Here’s to someday exhausting all the possibilities that aisle has to offer.

I have never been to Japan—I plan to go this fall and I can’t wait—but for now, this place feels pretty close.

It was with a healthy dose of skepticism that I first walked into 800° Degrees, an assembly-line style create-your-own pizzeria. I have no problem with cafeteria style eating—I happily frequent Tender Greens—but the lofty claims made by the founder, Anthony Carron, in this somewhat hilarious video featured on their website made me cringe uncontrollably. The video absolutely makes me want to eat pizza, but the founder’s persistent claims like “this is the way that pizza was first invented in Naples, Italy” and “we wanted to capture the spirit of Napoli,” had me raising an eyebrow. He mentions “Naples” or “Napoli” at least four times. That’s more than once per minute. I hate to sound snobbish, but I did have the extreme pleasure of eating authentic Neapolitan pizza in Naples last fall, and I certainly did not spot any Chipotle-style assembly lines. Neapolitan pizza is crafted austerely—there are two options at Da Michele, the Naples pizzeria made famous in the movie “Eat Pray Love” (don’t let that deter you)—one may choose pizza with tomato sauce, garlic and oregano (no cheese!) or pizza with tomato sauce, mozzarella di buffala, and basil. Both are incredible.
Toppings quibbles aside, let’s just point out that the soda machine Anthony touts as being designed “by an Italian design company” doesn’t look like it would quite fit in in a corner pizza joint in Napoli either. I also take issue with the fact that the name of the restaurant is clearly “Eight Hundred Degrees Degrees.” Choose either to use the symbol or to spell it out, but you can’t have both.

I am humbled to say that when I finally did visit 800° Degrees, the aroma alone upon entering was enough to make me eat my words (and a whole lot of thin crust pizza too). I looked down the assembly line at my possible topping options, and my appetite was whetted by lovely looking fresh mushrooms, olives, eggplant, Calabrian chilies, soppressata and prosciutto, among many other selections. There was oregano on the stem, applied by shaking onto the marinara-sauced pizza dough. I ordered the simple pizza margherita (the same thing I ordered in Naples) and by the time we had paid and gotten our drinks, the pizza was ready, just like Anthony promised.

The flavor: it’s good. It’s not Naples. You have no doubt heard legends of the unique “00” flour and the special flavor of the water in Italy, and those legends are true. Nothing will ever taste like the pizza crust at Da Michele, and unfortunately 800° Degrees is no exception. But the pizza does taste really good. It does come out of an 800-degree oven bubbling and chewy and thin and edible only with a fork and knife, which is pretty authentic. Everything on the menu is unbelievably cheap—a basic margherita pizza is only $6.45. You can get a delicious salad of creamy burrata cheese with roasted beets or cherry tomatoes and pesto or eggplant caponta for $5. I still can’t believe that. They have wine and beer in addition to their space-agey soda machine.

The bottom line is, the place is really cheap—like Naples cheap—and it’s tasty too. Sure, it is over-crowded with loud UCLA students and the preparation method smacks of Subway. But I applaud the fact that this restaurant has designed a business model where they can successfully offer a dish that goes for $20 on some of my favorite menus around town for $7 instead, and the concept works. They are a chain, and they are slated to open 10 new locations this year. Normally that kind of rapid growth would turn me off, but I am coming to appreciate more and more the turn towards fast food with real ingredients and a pleasant dining experience. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that the restaurant reminds me of Italy, but I wouldn’t want to miss out on eating there either.